


Peacetimes

by aizia



Category: Overwatch (Video Game)
Genre: A combination of AU and canon universe short fics, F/F, Mostly Fluff
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2016-07-21
Updated: 2017-08-20
Packaged: 2018-07-25 19:08:24
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 22
Words: 17,382
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7544407
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/aizia/pseuds/aizia
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Sometimes, the nights are quiet, her arms are safe, and the world feels gentler.</p><p>Soft, stolen moments in a war-torn world.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Taking Names

 

Still in a lovely sort of haze, Fareeha was content to observe the woman lying next to her. Her hair, loose and shining golden, spilled over the pillows, and the comforter had slipped just enough to expose an elegant shoulder and neck, flushed with marks Fareeha had soothed earlier with kisses.

Angela turned to her meaningfully, earnest adoration in her eyes, and it was a humbling sight. “I wanted to talk to you about something."

Shaking away the last of her daze, Fareeha gave her girlfriend, _no, fiancée,_ she thought, a curious look. She felt herself warming further as she recalled the last few hours; Angela had given her an enthusiastic _yes_ , and had pulled out a ring box of her own from her purse, sheepishly admitting she’d had it for months.

Fareeha folded their hands together. “Anything.”

“I’d like to take your name.”

“You…” Fareeha blinked. “Oh.”

“I have no ties to the Ziegler family anymore. My parents haven’t been alive for decades, and Ana was the closest I had to a mother growing up. I know it’s just a formality, but ever since I fell in love with you I knew I wanted this. I would be honoured to take the Amari name.” She took a breath. “If that’s alright with you.”

Overcome with affection for the woman beside her, Fareeha pulled her close, stroking the blonde head tucked under her chin. “Of course. Of course.”


	2. When We Were Young

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Finished this up for today's Pharmercy week prompt: Old Times.

 

  
Setting her clear bag of makeup on the counter, Angela wordlessly planted herself on the closed seat of Fareeha’s bathroom toilet. She squinted at the girl, who was sitting on the counter, fiddling with a tube of a toothpaste.  
  
  
  
"Cobalt would look good with your eyes," Angela said, finally. “Maybe copper.”

 

Fareeha raised her eyebrows, setting the toothpaste on the counter. Cobalt seemed a little bright.

 

Angela smiled at her expression. “What, you don’t trust me?”

 

Fareeha raised her palms in surrender and watched Angela fish in her bag for something. “No, no, go on.”

 

_“Could you do my makeup for my graduation?”_

 

_Her mother looked at her, surprise evident in her features. Then her mouth curved up, almost sly. “Oh habibti, I wouldn’t do a very good job.” Ana’s smile grew. “Why don’t you ask Angela?”_

 

A day later, Fareeha had a nagging feeling her mother would have been perfectly capable of doing her makeup, but with Angela’s thumb brushing her cheek, so close her hair tickled Fareeha’s shoulders, she wasn’t about to complain.  
  
  
  
Angela thumbed her new tattoo.  "Looks natural on you," she said. Fareeha had turned eighteen only a few weeks ago, and had dragged her mother along to be inked the following day. "I like it."

 

Fareeha tried to ignore her breath on her cheek. “Thank you."

 

Angela held her gaze for a moment longer, and then opened a set of eye shadow. Fareeha let her eyes fall closed as a soft brush swiped over her lids.

 

Angela wore an intense squint of concentration as she applied eyeliner, hand resting on Fareeha’s shoulder to steady herself. Fareeha had nowhere to look but her face. The summer had kissed her cheeks with tiny freckles, and up close specks of grey and green danced among the sea of blue that was her eyes.

  
When Angela finally stepped back to admire her work, Fareeha warmed under her gaze. It was laced with a friendly innocence, but its deep, underlying fondness made Fareeha forget to be disappointed.  
  
  
  
"You look beautiful," Angela said, smiling. “As usual.”  
  
  
  
"Thank you," Fareeha said, swallowing the lump in her throat. "For everything."

 

* * *

  
  
  
Fareeha stormed the halls of the base, hot tears obscuring her vision. She needed air, a shower; anything that made her forget that glower of barely repressed betrayal and disappointment. Fareeha clenched her fists. Why couldn’t she accept who she was? What she wanted?

 

“Fareeha?”

 

Fareeha whipped around and deflated. Angela stood before her, clad in pajamas and a concerned frown. “I didn’t mean to wake you.” Fareeha winced at sound of her own voice, hoarse from crying.

 

Angela took a step towards her. “It’s half past twenty. I wasn’t asleep.” Fareeha felt a hand on her arm. “It’s your last evening on the base. You should be spending it with your mother.”

  
  
"She doesn't want anything to do with me tonight."

  
  
At the pain in Fareeha eyes, Angela's resolve softened. "She doesn't want you in the army,” she said, almost a question. "She's just going to miss you, Fareeha. It's not—"

  
  
Fareeha shook her head, on the verge of tears again. "It's not that. That's not why."

  
  
Angela pulled her close, and Fareeha clutched desperately. She was grateful when Angela didn’t ask any more questions, rubbing her back soothingly.

  
"She'll come around. She's always wanted you to follow in her footsteps."

  
  
Though laced with sincerity, the words fell flat to Fareeha. She didn’t have the heart to tell Angela so.

  
  
Fresh tears spilled when she thought of how much she would miss the young woman holding her. She hated to put a name to it, but an aching place within her that was tender and vulnerable knew exactly what it was.

 

* * *

 

   
Fareeha had saved Angela's goodbye for last.

 

She was in the lab, as Fareeha had expected, scribbling on a tablet. Fareeha watched her for a moment, committing the scene to memory. She stored away the careless manner with which she pushed up her reading glasses, her characteristic frown of concentration.

  
  
"Goodbye, Angela."

  
  
Angela looked up, smiling softly as her eyes found Fareeha's at the doorway. She walked over to embrace her, and then held her at arm’s length.

  
"Take care of yourself, and drink lots of water," she said, giving Fareeha a meaningful look. "Be safe."

  
  
Fareeha shook her head in mock-exasperation. "Always the doctor."

  
  
Angela didn't retort. "Write me. Promise?"

  
  
"Promise," was the last word she said before she left.

 

 


	3. Sick Days

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Written for a tumblr drabble meme: Pharmercy + the dialogue prompt, "Oh my god. You're in love with her."

Fareeha had opened over a dozen cupboards now and she still hadn’t found a single bag of herbal tea. She sighed in frustration and turned to Hana, who was busy with her computer on one of the fold-up kitchen tables.

“You don’t happen to have any tea in that food stash of yours, do you?” Fareeha asked, settling for her last resort.

Hana looked thoughtful. “A lot of other things, but no tea.” 

Fareeha groaned. 

“Where have you been all day, anyway?” Hana asked. “I’ve barely seen you.”

“Angela’s sick. I’ve been taking care of her.”

That was enough for Hana to pause her game. “Is she okay?”

“Yeah, just the flu. I had to force her to stop working. You’d think a doctor would know better…” Fareeha shook her head and fiddled with a package of cough drops, unaware of Hana studying her. “Do you know if we have any cough syrup? She’s been coughing her throat raw; she can barely speak. I was thinking about going out and buying her some of those soft tissues so at least it won’t hurt when she blows her no—”

“Oh my god. You’re in love with her.”

Fareeha dropped Angela’s cough drops. She opened her mouth, closed it, and then finally sighed, defeated. 

Hana held up her palms in surrender. “She won’t find out from me.”

 

Not a few days later, Angela looked as healthy and as glowing as ever.

“Fareeha is so kind, isn’t she? I’ve never had anyone take care of me like that before. It was sweet,” Angela said, a faraway look in her eyes. “She was sweet.”

Hana nodded, couldn’t help the smirk on her face. “Mhm.”


	4. Arabic

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A bit ago I was sent a couple of Pharmercy + “How long have you been standing there?” drabble prompts and I decided to take the concept but omit the exact line (I’m sorry to the people who sent it; I hope that’s okay).
> 
> The background info is that Angela canonically did relief work in Iraq and even though they speak different varieties of Arabic there there’s a good chance she could still pick up on some key words in Egyptian Arabic. So, uh. Don’t take this too seriously:

“Any women in your life?” Ana spoke quietly in Arabic. Fareeha tried to ignore Ana’s meaningful glance at Angela across the dinner table, who was nursing some dish of Reinhardt’s. Hana called it _Salty, German, and Unpronounceable_.

Fareeha sighed heavily. “No.”

Ana hummed in contemplation. “You spend a lot of time with our good doctor, don’t you?”

Fareeha groaned. “Yes. We’re good friends.”

“She brings you coffee in the mornings.”

“That’s because she’s a nice person, mom.”

“Sometimes she looks at you so fondly at dinner I sit somewhere else so I won’t interrupt.”

Fareeha pinched the bridge of her nose, steadfastly avoiding Angela’s gaze from across the table.

“When she got hurt, you were worried sick. My stoic Fareeha had panic in her eyes. Not to _mention_ when she wore that witch costume—”

“ _Alright_. That’s enough,” Fareeha said, switching to English. “We’re being rude, now. No one else can understand us.”

When Fareeha finally built up the courage to look at Angela again, she was staring into her dinner, cheeks noticeably pink. Fareeha furrowed her brows. _Could she…?_

Fareeha dismissed the thought. She _couldn’t._

Besides Fareeha, Angela was the last to finish her meal. On the way to the door, she stopped to lean over Fareeha’s chair.

“I didn’t know you liked that costume so much,” Angela said nonchalantly. “I could wear it again for you.”

She left with a wink, and Fareeha buried her head in her hands.

“ _Fuck_.”


	5. Rima

"I'll go," Angela mumbles, voice thick with sleep. She manages to prop herself up with an elbow and flicks on the bedside lamp.

One glance at the deep bags under Angela's eyes has Fareeha shaking her head. "No, you sleep. I'll go."

Angela looks at her hopefully. "You sure?"

"Of course." Fareeha flicks off the lamp. "Go back to sleep."

"I love you," Angela says, voice now muffled in her pillow.

Fareeha smiles, pressing a quick kiss to Angela's temple before letting the sound of a baby's cry lead her to the closest bedroom.

Rima doesn't need changing, and neither is she hungry, and so Fareeha holds her close, rubs her back soothingly. Her wails fade into fusses and soft Arabic flows from Fareeha's tongue, just above her breath. She recalls snippets of the lullaby from her childhood, unforgotten fragments of her earliest years.

_Come and sleep on the rug_  
_Sleep in my arms_  
_Tomorrow, the sun will rise_  
_Oh, little bird, your hair is black and bright_  
_The one who loves you is here_

When Rima's fusses are replaced by the measured breathing of sleep, Fareeha lowers her into her crib, slow and silent.

She is as slow and as silent when climbing back into bed, but by now she knows she will wake Angela anyway. Sure enough, Angela shuffles closer when Fareeha settles in, tucking her head under Fareeha's chin and laying an arm against her waist. Fareeha strokes her hair and Angela hums into her shoulder.

The tears start abruptly, something inside her overflowing, leaking out. They fall warm and quick across her cheeks and soon her cotton sleeve can't keep up with them.

Maybe it is contentment and hope and gratitude in one spilling mass.

Her family is more than she ever hoped for. She remembers the days when she was terrified to confront what she wanted, when she was alone and it all felt far away, unobtainable. When who she is was a weight over her chest, looming and heavy. She remembers those months when her heart wouldn't listen to caution and she was so terribly, achingly aware that she was falling in love with Angela Ziegler. She expected nothing to become of it.

She remembers when Angela kissed her the first time, clumsy and casual and over midnight hot chocolate. Fareeha took one look at her, swearing fear and caution to the wind, and kissed her back. She has not once regretted it.

She remembers their wedding, and the pride on her mother's face.

And Rima, who has blessed her with the ups and downs and the shared indescribable joy of parenthood; at less than a year old, she has given Fareeha a new purpose, has inspired in her a love that is as gentle as it is fiercely protective.

God, she is so happy.

Angela looks up when Fareeha reaches for a tissue on the nightstand, gentle concern in her eyes. 

"I'm happy," Fareeha says, sure she is blubbering. "I'm just happy."

Angela softens in understanding, and before long Fareeha is kissing her, Angela's own tears falling onto Fareeha's cheeks. 

 

_Tomorrow, the sun will rise._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> That lullaby is called 'Nami' and can be found [here.](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=yawxb8uLtmg)
> 
> The inspiration for Rima's name comes from another Arabic lullably, called ['Yalla Tnam Rima.'](https://www.youtube.com/watch?nomobile=1&v=xb2h-SXAvUE)


	6. Proposals

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Wrote this to cheer myself up. It's very sappy and I am sorry.

Jesse sat crosslegged on the ground, absently threading grass and vines into loops of varying circumference. Angela flipped through a textbook a few feet away.

Fareeha was growing bored of the app she had been playing on her mother's phone. She put the phone down on the grass and examined her surroundings for a moment, entertaining the thought that one of the threaded loops in Jesse's pile was about the right size for a ring.

With the uninhibited humour of a twelve-year-old, she grabbed the ring and lowered herself onto one knee in front of Angela. A laugh bubbled out of her before she cleared her throat and held up the ring. "Marry me, Angela."

Jesse let out a low whistle, looking up from the grass he was fiddling with. "Angie's got a suitor, huh?"

Angela swatted Jesse and accepted the grass ring. "This must have cost a fortune, Fareeha! How in heavens name did you afford it?"

Fareeha laughed, pleased. "Sold everything I had."

"Of course. I should have expected nothing less."

 _"Fareeha!_ " Ana called from the main building. "Do you have my phone?"

Fareeha blew a silly kiss in Angela's direction before grabbing the phone and jogging away.

Angela chuckled to herself. Fareeha would have the same charm as her mother when grown, she imagined.  
  


 

* * *

 

 

Fareeha had had too much to drink.

Ana, not a traditional mother by any means, had taken her out to drink just a week after they'd landed in Gibraltar for the summer.

"You've just graduated, and the drinking age is 18 here. You're too stiff all the time. Have a little _fun_ ," she had said.

Ana had managed to drag along most of the team; Jack frowned into his beer in the corner, Reinhardt had started some impromptu karaoke onstage, and Angela sipped wine at one of the tables.

Her ponytail was endearingly messy; white-gold hair catching the light and framing her face. The red wine had stained her lips a darker shade of pink, and her shirt's cut was elegantly low.

She was so pretty. How had Fareeha never noticed how pretty she was?

Overcome with purpose, Fareeha half-marched, half-staggered to where Angela was sitting, clearing her throat to make herself known.

"You're soooo pretty," Fareeha said. "Soooo pretty."

Angela stifled a wine-induced giggle behind her hand, amused. "Why, thank you."

Fareeha asked the only thing that seemed appropriate in the circumstance: "Will you marry me?" 

Angela laughed so hard she snorted. "Oh Fareeha... how much did you have to drink?"

"I dunno. Pro'lly a lot," she slurred.

"I'll get you some water, hm?"

Fareeha smiled dopily. "And she's nice, too..."  
  


 

* * *

 

 

Angela had had a long, hard day. The only place she'd wanted to be since noon was cuddled up on the couch with her girlfriend.

She sighed in contentment when Fareeha's arms finally wrapped around her. She could doze off on her warm chest, lulled by the scent of detergent and licorice tea that she now found intensely comforting.

Sometimes, her needs were simple.

"Angela?" Fareeha asked from underneath her.

Angela hummed sleepily in acknowledgement.

"Do you want to get married?"

Angela lifted her head to meet Fareeha's eyes, and Fareeha watched her smile grow into a light laugh. "Of course."

Grinning, Fareeha fished for something underneath one of the cushions. She opened the box reverently and Angela found herself tearing up as Fareeha fitted the engagement ring on her finger.

Angela kissed her deeply. The look Fareeha gave her when they parted was achingly soft, and overcome with affection, Angela lowered her forehead against Fareeha's.

"I guess we've waited long enough," Fareeha said.

Angela nodded. "It's been nearly twenty years since you last proposed to me."

Fareeha laughed. "Third time's the charm."

 

 

 

 


	7. Beets Me

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I wanted to thank you all for your sweet comments on the previous chapter. I was having a rough week due to a family death and they made it a little brighter.
> 
> (I can't even say what the following chapter even is, just that I'm ridiculous and so sorry.)

The first time Angela slipped a hand under Fareeha's shirt, Fareeha stiffened noticeably.

In the end, Fareeha stepped away at the same time Angela dropped her hand.

Angela erupted in apologies, and Fareeha waved them away.

Angela was not mollified, however. "Do you want to do this differently? Or not at all?"

Fareeha gesticulated with the kind of fervor she normally saved for the battlefield. "No! No. Everything you've been doing is wonderful. It's not that."

The gears turned in Angela's mind. "Are you uncomfortable with intimacy?" she asked quietly.

"No. Not at all."

"Vulnerability?"

"Only when I'm hundreds of feet in the air."

Angela studied her for a moment longer. "Whenever you're ready to tell me, let me know. I'm sure we can work around it."

Fareeha nodded, attempting to channel a calm exterior atop her roiling insides.

Angela would hate it. Fareeha was certain. She'd never be able to take Fareeha seriously again, and it was all because of a stupid vegetable.

She should have chosen truth.

 

***

 

Fareeha, at 19, considered herself daring: reckless, even.

Alcohol, and the company of a rowdy gang of soldiers, only amplified such tendencies.

"Fareeha," Tezhar said, "truth or dare?"

Fareeha was always up for a challenge, and she never, _ever_ , chose truth over a dare.

"Dare."

Tezhar shook his head. "Is it even worth asking you anymore?"

Fareeha grinned, exuding confidence as she lounged against the counter. "Lay it on me."

"Get a tattoo," Tezhar said.

"I'm listening."

"I don't care what it's of. I'm not _that_ cruel."

Fareeha grinned. "Easy. You're on."

Her greatest mistake was waiting until she was three drinks deeper into hell before stumbling into a tattoo parlor.

She woke up that morning with an unsurprisingly awful hangover. A sequence of hazy memories flashed through her pounding head. She ripped off her shirt in a panic and ran to the bathroom mirror.

Simple lines of ink sat over top reddened skin. Fareeha squinted in confusion, studying the shape of the design, and then groaned until she ran out of breath.

There, smack-dab in the middle of her chest, was a drawing of a root vegetable. Upon closer inspection, it appeared to be a beet. The caption read: "Unbeetable."

She had seared a _pun_ into her skin. A _pun_. And god, it wasn't even a good one.

Fareeha dropped her head into her hands. _Fuck_.

She was never drinking again.

 

She was thankful none of the people who saw her curled into a ball shirtless on the communal bathroom floor asked her any questions.

 

  
***

 

Fareeha supposed she could have pursued removal options.

But she found she didn't think of it much after a while. Few people ended up seeing her bare chest, and even fewer long enough to decipher the contents of her tattoo. She was busy, and it simply wasn't a priority.

A certain blonde doctor had altered her situation significantly.

  
  
  
***

 

"Can I ask you a question?" Angela said. She stroked Fareeha's fingers absently, a nervous habit more than anything.

Fareeha thought about teasing her with something along the lines of "You just did," but Angela's expression was too serious for such jest.

"Of course."

A pained sort of doubt furrowed her features. "You are attracted to me, right?"

Fareeha's heart contracted in her chest. She couldn't do this to Angela anymore. She was being a jerk. A jerk with a vegetable pun seared into her chest.

In a haste, she pulled her shirt off and gestured to her chest. "Just look at it," she said, bracing herself for multitudes of negative reactions.

Thoroughly confused, Angela leaned closer to inspect the tattoo. In time, her smile grew, and she covered her mouth as laughter bubbled out of it.

"Fareeha, that's adorable."

"I—" Fareeha blinked. "What?"

"Is that all you were worried about? I mean, I can't promise it won't occasionally ruin the mood, but—"

"You don't hate it," Fareeha processed slowly.

"No. I think it's cute. Very _you_."

Still in a state of shock, Fareeha pulled her close. "Thank you, Angela. This... means a lot to me."

"Maybe I should get a matching one," Angela mused.

Fareeha pulled away and looked at her seriously. "No."

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> [I was inspired by this clipart, but Fareeha's tattoo is probably less ornate, lmao. ](http://www.loveocolo.com/wp-content/uploads/2010/09/unbeetable.jpg)


	8. A Letter

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> In the new comic, Genji writes a letter to Angela. I, predictably, prefer them as close (and gay, lmao) friends.
> 
> Here's a brief little interpretation of his letter. Though I haven't had a chance to explore it, I like the headcanon that, due to the dangers of their work and their tendencies toward professionalism, both Angela and Fareeha deny their love for each other for a very long time.
> 
> There might be a part II to this from Angela's POV, if people like it.

 

_Dear Angela,_

_There is something you said to me that I've been thinking about for many months now._

_It was Christmas of last year. I'd asked if you had someone to come home to. You'd looked at me, smiled it off, and said you didn't have time for love. At the time, I thought the same thing of myself. When I was given this new form, I left behind the passion I used to cling to. I was struggling in my mind, and my focus was far from romance._

_But now, I realize I have been ready for longer than I ever thought. There is someone I love, and I have finally come to acknowledge this. I am happier than I have ever been. I believe we, the one I love and I, are both happier._

_I can't say for certain if you are in the same situation, but I have my suspicions. My partner would tell you to express this love: to not let yourself be chained by something so beautiful. You can handle the consequences, or any fallout, but nothing is worse than regret, Angela._

_Please, take advantage of happiness where you can find it._

  
_I wish you all the best,_

_Genji_


	9. A Letter Part II

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> As a West Coast Canadian, I love all the speculation that Pharah's father is Pacific Northwest Coast First Nations and lives in BC, so I had to contribute to it. 
> 
> Also works as a continuation to the previous chapter that I posted earlier today. There probably will be a part III.

 

The restaurant, more of a bar than anything, was quiet for Christmas Eve. A hockey game droned on on the TV behind Fareeha, and her father sat in front of her, hands folded and smile bright.

"So tell me how long you'll be here for?" he asked.

"I have to fly back to base on Boxing Day, but today and tomorrow, I'm completely free."

He put a hand on Fareeha's shoulder. "I'm glad you've made time for your Canadad."

"Oh my god."

He grinned. "You started it."

Fareeha just shook her head. "I wasn't expecting it to catch on."

Fareeha's father was one of the few people who laughed wholeheartedly at her puns. Her mother had always said she took after him in humour. Fareeha certainly didn't doubt that, if her mother's eye rolls and _You need better material, habibti_ 's were any indication.

His expression sobered. "How is Overwatch?"

The recall had been over a year ago, altering Fareeha's life rapidly and drastically. She smiled ruefully. "I feel useful, and as long as we're fighting for a good cause, that can't be a bad thing."

"Is it strange? Seeing Jesse and Angela and the rest again?"

"Well, Jesse hasn't changed very much, to be honest. Angela's even more beautiful than I remembered."

It had tumbled out unbidden, and Fareeha rubbed her temples. "I just said that, didn't I?"

"Would you rather me pretend you didn't?" he asked honestly, though a smile tugged at his lips.

Fareeha sighed in response.

"Love isn't always a bad thing, Far."

"I worry about her safety already. Can you imagine what it would be like if we were together?"

He studied her for a moment. "Would she make you happy?"

"Yes," Fareeha said, without question.

"Then maybe the worry is just something you have to accept," he said, old pain seeping into this voice. Fareeha hated how much she understood.

"I've spent my whole life accepting that the people I love could be gunned down at any second. I'm tired." She shook her head. "God, why couldn't I have fallen for an accountant?"

He chuckled. "Because that's not you."

A pause, and Fareeha's gaze followed the trail of snowflakes outside the window. Snow was surprisingly sparse in Vancouver, but she'd happen to fly up during their biggest snowfall in three years. Which, admittedly, wasn't that big.

"Angela could die either way. Do you really think it would be less painful, if you'd kept your distance?" he asked.

Fareeha tore her gaze away from the window. "I'd die with regrets."

"Exactly."

"With everything that's happened with you and mom, I'm surprised you're giving me this advice."

His smile was distant. "We were only together for a few years, but I still don't regret the decision I made to be with your mother. If you truly love her, I don't think you'll regret being with Angela, either."

Fareeha thought of Angela, of her heart—filled with a deep sort of kindness that had endured through unimaginable pain, of the gentle smile lines under her eyes, of her competence and the pride she took in improving and saving lives, of the way she'd sing when she thought no one was around, of her beauty—

No, Fareeha wouldn't regret it.

"If you don't mind me asking, does she feel the same way about you?" he asked.

Fareeha took a long, deep breath. "I suppose I'll find out."


	10. A Letter Part III

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry for the delay! This took me forever for some reason.
> 
> To people who celebrate it on the first, happy slightly early New Year! It'll be nice to have 2016 behind us.
> 
> Note: the fact that Fareeha might be Canadian has given me an excuse to let my Canadian vernacular go unfiltered in her narration, so I apologize in advance for my usage of the word "toque."
> 
> Note II: Spätzli is a Swiss German term of endearment that means "little sparrow." It's also a type of egg noodle which I find hilarious. Don't tell Fareeha

 

Gibraltar International Airport wasn’t where Fareeha imagined she’d be on New Years Eve.

Her flight hadn’t been a direct one, and nearly every step of the way she’d been delayed, uncharacteristically heavy snow prolonging her trip by over three days.

She had no car, and taxis were out of the question; a drop-off near the base would be suspicious at best. That morning, she’d asked her mother by way of text to pick her up at the airport (and, recalling her childhood, felt an uncanny sense of déjà vu). Ana had responded with a single emoji. Fareeha hadn’t spent much time attempting to interpret it.

She’d opened up her mother’s messaging stream and had something like _I’m at the airport_ halfway texted when a voice gave her pause.

“Fareeha?”

She knew that voice. Fareeha flipped between emotions; she had missed Angela, wholeheartedly, and wanted to see her more than anything. But she was also now acutely aware of how long she’d been wearing the same hoodie and pair of sweatpants.

Sure enough, Angela beamed in front of her, blonde hair peaking out of a red toque. She dropped both of the cloth bags in her hands and pulled Fareeha into a hug. Fareeha dropped her carry-on in the same fashion, and the stress of the day melted off of her in Angela’s arms. She sagged in relief.

“Long day?” Angela asked. Fareeha nodded as they parted, and Angela motioned to the bags. “Winston and Lena decided to throw a New Year’s party. I figured you might be hungry, and I might have smuggled some of the buffet for us.”

“I always knew the angel image was just a front.”

Angela winked. “Don’t tell Winston I took some of the peanut butter cookies.”

They found an empty bench near the front entrance and set up an impromptu picnic, balancing paper plates full of appetizers and desserts on their laps.

“So,” Fareeha said, swallowing a bite of cookie. “Did my mother send you to pick me up?”

“She hinted at it. I didn’t need much persuading.”

Fareeha went warm. “Thank you.”

“It’s my pleasure,” Angela said. “I missed you.”

Her voice was laced with an open fondness Fareeha hadn’t realized she’d been longing to hear, and Fareeha’s body was ahead of her mind. When her lips were a hairbreadth away from Angela’s own, Angela held a palm to Fareeha's chest, halting further movement. Fareeha backed up on the bench, swallowing the burn of rejection.

She was beginning an apology when Angela placed a finger to Fareeha's lips for a moment, smile soft. "No need. You're just early."

Fareeha blinked. “Early?”

"It's ten thirty." Angela's smile grew shy. "I'd like to kiss you at midnight."

"Oh," Fareeha breathed in relief. A smile tugged at her lips. " _Oh_."

 

Angela had taken to placing one of her hands on the centre console when she didn’t need it for driving. It was a silent invitation, and Fareeha had taken it each time, folding their hands together in a way that felt unquestionably right. Eventually Angela would slip her hand back to the steering wheel out of necessity, but the cycle continued.

In a bout of boldness, Fareeha pressed a kiss to the back of Angela’s hand, and there was warmth in Angela’s resulting chuckle.

“Can’t wait, Spätzli?”

Fareeha smiled at the endearment. “You didn’t say I couldn’t kiss your _hand_ before midnight.”

Angela frowned in exaggerated concentration, pretending to think it over. “I suppose you’re right.”

A pause, and Fareeha played with Angela’s fingers absently. “Is this a midnight kiss, or is this something else?”

Angela looked thoughtful. “What would you like it to be?”

Fareeha took a breath. “I had a lot of time to think on the plane. I thought about you, and what I hope for us, for the future. I came to a decision.”

“What was it?”

“I’d like to be with you.”

Angela kept her eyes on the road, letting the gravity of Fareeha’s words weigh on her.

“I love you, more than I fear the risks,” Fareeha finished.

Ever since Fareeha had arrived over a year ago, all endearing charm and genuine goodness, Angela had known the woman would crumble her defenses eventually. A part of Angela had wanted them to crumble, even then.

An _I love you_ had knocked over the final brick, and it was freeing. With a lightness in her chest, Angela laughed. “I might have loved you for longer.”

Fareeha opened her mouth, and then hesitated. “I doubt that,” she finally decided on.

“How could you beat the day we were reunited?”

Fareeha’s laugh was nearly a sigh. “The first time my mother let me go to one of Overwatch’s famous Halloween parties, I was fifteen. I don’t even remember what you were wearing, now, but I took one look at you and…” she seemed to search for words. “It was an enlightening experience, to say the least."

Angela burst into laughter. “Oh Fareeha! I had no idea.”

“By eighteen, I was convinced I was in love with you. It lay dormant for a while—when I was in the army, studying, and at Helix—but I’m not sure it if ever truly went away.”

“I wish I wasn’t driving this car,” Angela said.

“Why?”

“I’d like to kiss you.”

“It’s only eleven thirty.”

Angela smiled. “I thought we decided this would be more than a midnight kiss.”

Fareeha gave her a look that said _do_ _you want our first kiss to be in a car, pulled over on the highway?_

Angela sighed and allowed herself to speed just a little.

 

Angela pulled into the Watchpoint at exactly two minutes to midnight.

She slammed the car door shut. “How quickly can we get inside?”

Grinning wickedly, Fareeha hoisted Angela into her arms. Angela's laughter rang out as Fareeha jogged through the grass, unceasing even when Fareeha lost her footing and they tumbled into a heap a few feet away from the building's back door.

Fareeha rolled halfway around so that Angela rested on her chest, and their laughter sobered under the moonlight. Angela tucked a stray lock of hair behind Fareeha’s ear, lingering on her cheek. The softness in Fareeha’s expression was palpable. How Angela had managed to delay this so long, she did not know.

“Happy New Year, Fareeha,” she said, nearly a whisper.

Fareeha’s full-mouthed smile couldn’t seem to disappear, which posed a challenge for kissing her, but Angela couldn’t bring herself to mind.

 

She wouldn’t mind for the next sixty firsts of January, either.


	11. The Sun Still Rises

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> This is a late 40's/early 50's AU. The concept was inspired by [this music video](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=eyn9kmuIwqA)\--it's not totally necessary to watch it, but I would really recommend it. It helps with setting the atmosphere. I promise my fic has a much better ending than the video, though. I essentially wrote this fic because I wanted to fix it.
> 
> No explicit homophobia is featured or mentioned—it isn't really a focus at all—but it's somewhat implied. Don't worry about any sad endings, I've got you, bud. :)

They had met three years past in the deserted forest trail down the road, into the farmlands. At the time, Fareeha had considered the overgrown trail to be hers—it was her escape, her shade, her apple trees. With anyone else, she might have been territorial. But Angela was a kindred spirit. Fareeha saw it in her eyes: the way they wandered, flitting between hope and defeat and unexpressed betrayal. So long as it was Angela, Fareeha didn't mind that someone else knew about her place; it felt right to share it with her. Fareeha only felt completely at peace when she was sitting in the shade and listening to birds chirp, Angela's quiet presence beside her.

There was something different about the two of them, and though unnamed, unarticulated, it bound them. It was a shared understanding, a shared isolation. For many years, they did not dig deeper than that. While escaping the world they had found each other, and that was all Fareeha could bring herself to express.

Angela was the girl down the street. She wore blouses, flowing skirts, and sweet smiles.

Fareeha loved her too much.

  
  
* * *

  
Fareeha brought her little kodak brownie in her bicycle basket some days. She liked to capture Angela best—Angela in _their place_ —the way light filtered in between the apple trees and brightened her grey-blue eyes, made the faint freckles on her cheeks all the more visible.

Angela seemed to direct her smiles at the photographer rather than the camera. There was an authenticity and a softness to her expressions that made Fareeha weak in the knees when she got them developed.

Fareeha's photographs delighted Angela, like she'd never seen portraits of just herself before. She insisted, then, on taking some of Fareeha. Fareeha was hesitant at first, but Angela was looking at her like _that_ , and Fareeha knew she wouldn't be able to say no to her.

"Fareeha," Angela said, "you have so many excellent features. Your eyes are so deep and beautiful—they tell so many stories. And your jaw, your eyelashes... it would be a shame not to capture you."

Fareeha's cheeks warmed considerably. "Alright."

Angela grinned and Fareeha showed her how to work the camera. She took pictures from a variety of angles, telling Fareeha to smile or look serious, crouching close for some and backing far away for others.

Fareeha had them developed the next morning. She placed them gingerly into a cloth bag in her bike basket and pedaled as fast as she could to the forest, anxious to see Angela.

Like always, the young woman sat against a tree, an old book on her lap.

"Excuse me, miss," Fareeha said, tipping an imaginary hat, and Angela grinned up at her.

"Well, hello," Angela said. "What's a fine woman like you doing in such a forest?"

"I was looking for another fine woman, actually."

Angela raised her brows. "Oh, really?" she crossed her arms playfully. "Well, I thought I had been your only fine forest woman, but I guess I was wrong."

Fareeha winked. "You're the finest of them."

Angela grinned at her lap and shook her head. "Do you have the photographs?"

Fareeha nodded, plucked the bag out of the basket, and sat down cross-legged beside Angela, knee to knee. Angela put away her book and leaned in, enough that her blonde hair tickled Fareeha's bare shoulder.

Angela's gaze was trained on a rather candid photograph of Fareeha for some time. She was pictured in front of the tall maple tree that they met at often, in the middle of a laugh.

"Can I keep this one?" Angela asked, thumb tracing Fareeha's grey-scale outline.

Fareeha swallowed a lump in her throat at the soft reverence in Angela's expression. "Of course."

(Angela taped it up on her wall, just above her desk.)

 

* * *   
  


Their visits to the forest did not cease in the winter. Fareeha brought the jackets and blankets that Angela didn't seem to own, and they huddled together and laughed to keep warm, ignoring the wetness that seeped through the blankets on snowy days in January.

One February morning, Angela lay on her back above the blanket they shared. Fareeha rested on her stomach beside her, head propped up on her hand. Birds chirped, leaves rustled, the creek gurgled, and Angela's fingers rested surely against the top of Fareeha's hand. The contentedness Fareeha felt was nearly overwhelming.

"My uncle won't stop bugging me about the neighborhood boys." Angela broke the silence, laughing stiffly.

"Oh. I... oh." Fareeha blinked into reality, swallowing the cold flash of fear in her stomach. "Do any interest you?"

Angela's gaze lingered. "No," she said.

Fareeha sighed in relief. She winced at its audible tone, but Angela only lowered her chin and smiled at her, like they were sharing a secret.

"Fareeha," she said, "there is no one I'd rather be with than you."

Fareeha let out a quiet laugh, eyes watering, and she knew, then, the way that they loved each other.

 

* * *   
  


In the spring, they built a small cabin in the shade of their maple tree. It was simple, cosy—only what they needed. Fareeha brought in quilts for curtains, set up mounds of blankets on the bed, stocked the cupboards with dry goods from the market.

It was a day in May, one in which the sun lingered hopefully, that they met in the forest, and for once, did not leave for the night. It was that same day Fareeha first tasted Angela's lips, in their kitchen, after they'd finally finished softening up their cabin's edges and making it a home. What had began as chaste became Angela's hands tangled in dark hair, Fareeha pulling her impossibly close, moving against each other with a kind of desperation borne out of lost time. Angela's eyes were wet when they parted, and Fareeha soothed the tears that fell with the pad of her thumb.

The next kiss was softer, slower. Angela's parting sigh tickled Fareeha's chin, and Fareeha's hands trailed down Angela's neck, collarbones, her arms, her back—needing the simple touch. Angela leaned into her, resting her head just below Fareeha's chin. She left kisses on Fareeha's chest, six before they pulled apart.

The first picture they developed and framed in their new home was one Fareeha took that afternoon. Angela was smiling—giddy, disheveled, soft, and happier than Fareeha had ever seen her. She placed it on the wall above their wooden kitchen table, and after Angela's insistance, added the one of herself and the maple tree.

They planted a large garden, and many more fruit trees. Angela saved food scraps for the rabbits, and Fareeha sold some of the produce in town. They made more than enough for what they needed to purchase: food they couldn't make themselves, things like soap and toothbrushes, clothes and blankets and new books occasionally.

They played chess inside, read crisp books, bird-watched occasionally. They took photographs and had them developed in town. They made love, held each other at night, still in smallclothes as they made breakfast. Fareeha quietly set aside a portion of what they earned, placed it in a jar under their bed. At the end of the year, she left Angela a note and went into town early that morning. She bought the prettiest ring in the store—Angela deserved nothing less. That afternoon, Angela cried and nodded in the living room.

They grew old in that house, and became the folklore of the neighborhood children. They spoke of the forest women, who lived in a cabin that was somehow always warm, even in the winter.

 

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'd love some feedback if possible :)


	12. Violets

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> There may be a part II if people are interested! It's a contemporary AU, I guess you could say?
> 
> Edit: Thank you for the feedback! There will be at least one more chapter of this AU, possibly two. Aside from needing to resolve the obvious cliffhanger, I've realized I have quite a bit more story to tell from Fareeha's side, so expect a continuation chapter over the weekend. :)

Angela had spent her childhood bouncing from foster home to foster home, her teenage years living and breathing academics, and her young adulthood working herself to the bone at the hospital. To say any critical reflections on her own sexuality had slipped from her radar during those years would be an understatement.

She had always figured once she finally had more time, she’d find herself interested in being with men. But then… it hadn’t happened. She found herself in the odd place of yearning for love but never falling in it.

And then… she’d met Fareeha. There was something starkly illuminating about being friends with her—an out gay woman—Angela had never had a connection that felt quite like it. And then she realized why, and everything clicked into place in an instant.

When she’d come out to Fareeha, Angela had been more surprised by Fareeha’s reaction than Fareeha had been at Angela’s own revelation.

_“You know I’m always here for you.” Fareeha opened her arms, beckoning her in. No shock, surprise, or amazement—nothing but gentle support and affection._

_Angela was caught off guard, though she stepped into Fareeha’s arms nonetheless. “I expected you to be more surprised.”_

_Fareeha pulled her a little tighter. “For the first month or so of knowing you, I thought it was your one big flaw. An amazing woman, unfortunate enough to be plagued by heterosexuality.”_

_Angela snorted._

_“Then I realized you couldn’t cook. Your true flaw. And then I knew you were gay.”_

_Angela pulled back to give her a_ look, _but Fareeha only smiled back at her, and Angela guessed there was an element of truth to her words amidst the jest. Of course Fareeha had probably wondered._

_“So you’re saying… you’ve known for almost three years.”_

_“More or less.”_

_“You know, you could have saved me a lot of time if you’d told me.”_

_Fareeha looked at her seriously. “I only wanted to help along the way. I didn’t want to be your driving force.”_

  
"Do you need any help?"

Angela looked up and set down the bouquet she'd been inspecting. A florist in a red apron smiled kindly in front of her, and Angela realized she'd been standing in the same spot for nearly half an hour. She gestured to the flowers, smiling apologetically. "I'm just not sure how to convey what I would like to."

The florist was older, grey hair falling to her shoulders. "I could make you a custom bouquet, if you'd like. What's the occasion?"

"Well, I... I have a friend. A close friend."

"Friendship flowers, then?"

Angela clasped her hands together. "Not quite."

The woman led Angela to the main desk, where groups of uncut flowers grew in bunches. "Coral or yellow roses are popular choices for non-romantic flowers."

"Well," Angela started, "I don't want to come off as... completely platonic."

"Red roses?"

"I thought about that, but I don't know if roses are _her_.” Angela swallowed, trying not to feel awkward so vulnerable. “I want her to know that I love her—that I’m in love with her—but they just didn't feel quite right."

The florist studied her for a moment, and the smile that took her lips afterward was fond. "Do violets appeal to you?"

“Do they mean anything in particular?” Angela asked, feeling as if she was missing something.

“Loyalty, devotion, faithfulness, and…” her smile became knowing, “love between women.”

“ _Oh_ , I…”

“They do work, I promise.” The woman chuckled at Angela’s reaction. “I’ve been with the same woman for thirty years. Can’t say it’s all because of the violets, but they don’t hurt. I still make her a bouquet every anniversary.”

Angela’s heart unexpectedly ached. She longed for that—celebrating anniversaries with Fareeha, making a life for themselves, growing old together. The woman must have noticed the look on her face—when Angela retrieved her wallet, the woman waved her off. “For you, they’re free.”

Angela blinked. “Are you sure?”

She began neatly clipping violet stems. “Of course.”

“That’s kind of you,” Angela said. “Thank you very much.”

“We’ve got to look out for each other, huh?

Angela was touched. “I never got your name.”

“Josephine. When you come back for your Valentine's Day flowers, tell me how it went, alright?”

Angela took the full purple bouquet from Josephine's hands and blinked away a couple of unexpected tears. “Of course.”

She left the store with a very warm chest. She had an hour before she’d be seeing Fareeha.

All she could do then was wait, and hope for the best.


	13. Violets II

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> There will be a part III soon. Shout out to my best tomato friend Miranda/thegirldoesthehitting for helping me with a transition that had been stumping me. :)

Angela sipped her coffee thoughtfully. “I haven’t been to a café forever,” she said. “It’s nice.”

Fareeha hadn’t known Angela for long, but she’d taken an immediate liking to her—she was an easy, soothing presence to be around. She never shied away from casually expressing her care, and Fareeha found her uninhibited affection endearing.

“No hot coffee shop dates?” Fareeha asked, grinning into her tea.

Angela stiffened noticeably. Eyes glued to the wood of the table, she laughed uncomfortably. “Not too much of that.”

Fareeha dropped the subject. She’d yet to see Angela so uncomfortable, and though she couldn’t have known, guilt tugged at her. She knew, logically, that there were many reasons Angela could have responded in that way: a recent break-up, issues in previous relationships, maybe romance just didn’t appeal to her. But the feelings her expressions conveyed as she dodged the question—Fareeha couldn’t help but see her young self, _vividly_ —sweating, spitting out a quick non-answer, hoping against hope she’d never be asked again.

Fareeha couldn’t help the small surge of protectiveness that rose in her.

 

* * *

 

 

Angela’s hair swayed with the evening breeze, and June sun had brought out freckles on her cheeks. Fareeha felt like summer suited her well.

They’d been discussing anything—it was one of those warm, soft evenings that made Fareeha feel utterly relaxed and content.

 “Tell me about…” Angela leaned back against the park bench, “your first crush.”

Fareeha exhaled a laugh. “A girl from middle school.”

Angela smiled. “Tell me about her.”

“She was this girl I admired from afar but never really talked to. Her name was Maria. My 12-year-old heart couldn’t take how pretty she was. I never even worked up the courage to become friends with her.”

Angela was silent for several moments, expression thoughtful. Fareeha watched the changing colours of the sunset until she asked, “Did you _know_ you had feelings for her, when it happened?”

Fareeha shook her head, understanding exactly what she meant. She pushed down some surprise at the question itself—it was a concept straight folks often didn’t instinctively understand: that you could have feelings for someone and only realize in hindsight. “It wasn’t until I was sixteen that I conceptualized that I was gay and what that meant for me.”

Angela nodded.

“I didn’t come out to my mom until I was twenty. She couldn’t understand why I had so much anxiety about it. She just wanted me to be happy.”

Angela clasped Fareeha’s hand gently. “I’m happy for you.”

Fareeha thanked her, and Angela was quieter for the rest of the evening. Angela’s _Did you_ know _you had feelings for her?_ echoed in Fareeha’s mind, and she couldn’t help but wonder about her; perhaps Angela was only unusually perceptive, unusually empathetic. Perhaps it was only a coincidence that she recoiled at any mention of her dating life. Perhaps it was only a coincidence that in five weeks of knowing her she’d never mentioned a boyfriend, a girlfriend, a fling, even just explained she wasn’t interested in romance—any indication that she was confident in her sexuality.

Angela sighed softly beside her.

And… there was always the possibility that it wasn’t a coincidence.

Fareeha lay an arm around her across the bench, trying her best to convey wordless support.

* * *

 

 

The well-worn park path was laden with fallen orange leaves. They crunched under their feet with each step, and crisp Autumn breeze reddened Angela’s cheeks.

“So, what are your plans for the evening?” Angela asked, in a way Fareeha knew meant she didn’t have a practical reason to ask but was genuinely interested in knowing anyway.

Fareeha sighed, pushing her hands into the pockets of her jean jacket. “I have a date tonight.”

Angela looked at her. “You don’t sound very happy about that.”

 “I’ve been on a bad streak lately,” Fareeha said, eyes trained on the leaves beneath her boots. “My priorities have changed recently, I think. As corny as it sounds, I’m 28 now and—I want long-term love.”

Angela nodded. “I understand. That’s when it became a bigger issue for me, as well.  I’m not sure these days if I’ll ever fall in love,” she said. “When you’re 32 years old and you’ve never even remotely had feelings for someone, you start to lose hope.”

“Is romantic love something you want?” Fareeha asked.

“If it’s with the right person, I’d love to fall in love.”

“But dating isn’t for you?” Fareeha asked, hoping she wasn’t overstepping.

“I…” Angela sighed. “I’ve tried dating. It doesn’t matter what kind of man it is, the connection I want is just never there. A few I tried to stick with—one for a few months—but I just never felt the kind of soft, romantic affection I wanted to feel. I never wanted to sleep with any of them.”

Fareeha blinked. Oh.

“My first date—I was in high school," Angela continued. "He kissed me and I felt _nothing_. He was popular, nice, athletic, I was supposed to like him, wasn’t I? I couldn’t understand why I felt that way.”

Fareeha was brought back to her early years of high school. She had tried so hard to be interested in boys—she didn’t want to be the outsider, to admit she didn’t _get it_ when her friends talked about the boys they liked, to admit to having nothing to say.

If Angela was gay and just hadn’t quite realized it yet, Fareeha wanted Angela to be at the forefront of her own journey. She had Fareeha’s endless support, but she couldn’t lead her through something so individual.

Fareeha tried to think of what she would have liked to hear, all those years ago.

“Angela,” she started, “I was once in a similar place. I’m more than convinced that one day you will be happy in love. Don’t settle for anything less. It might not be where or when or with who you expect, but I know it will happen, when the time is right.”

Tears ran down Angela’s cheeks by the time Fareeha finished. Angela stopped walking and pulled Fareeha into her arms in the middle of the pathway, and Fareeha rubbed her back soothingly.

“Thank you, Fareeha,” she said quietly. “That means a lot to me.”

 

* * *

 

 

“You know I’m always here for you.” Fareeha opened her arms, beckoning her in. She didn’t want to convey anything but support and affection. Angela deserved that much.

Angela looked obviously caught off guard, though she stepped into Fareeha’s arms nonetheless. “I expected you to be more surprised.”

Fareeha pulled her a little tighter, wanting to defuse the situation. “For the first month or so of knowing you, I thought it was your one big flaw. An amazing woman, unfortunate enough to be plagued by heterosexuality.”

Angela snorted. Fareeha took that as a win.

“Then I realized you couldn’t cook. Your true flaw. And then I knew you were gay.”

Angela pulled back to give her that _look_ that had always endeared her to Fareeha. Mock-annoyance, though the accompanying smile that tugged at her lips’ corners never really sold it. Fareeha smiled back at her, and watched the gears turn in Angela’s head.

 “So you’re saying… you’ve known for almost three years.”

“More or less.”

“You know, you could have saved me a lot of time if you’d told me.”

Fareeha was expecting that. “I only wanted to help along the way. I didn’t want to be your driving force.”

 

* * *

 

 

At one point, Fareeha dated actively. She was a doer—if she liked a woman, she’d ask her out. She approached dating with an open mind.

These days she cancelled more dates than she went on. She could only sit through so many when she saw _Angela_ in the way one of them laughed, _Angela_ in the way another tucked her hair behind her ear, always Angela. She couldn’t keep doing that to them—and so she stopped.

For Angela’s sake, she did her best to swallow her feelings around her. Angela had come to terms with her sexuality barely six months ago. Everything was still so new to her. She needed time. The last thing Fareeha wanted was to pressure her to rush into something she wasn’t ready for.

She came to the eventual conclusion that she’d wait for Angela to come to her. Truly, she’d happily wait for Angela.

She recognized the flaw in her plan—if Angela didn’t have feelings for her, then she’d be waiting indefinitely. She decided that after a year and a half—if Angela hadn’t already brought it up—she’d reveal her feelings, and Angela could decide what happened from there.  

Months went by, and the possibility of unrequited feelings weighed on Fareeha’s chest. She learned to accept the weight. She wanted Angela to be happy and comfortable.

If that wasn’t with her, then so be it.

 

 


	14. To Think

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I wrote this little stand alone a long time ago and found it in my folders recently. I thought I might as well post it.
> 
> Re: Violets, I wrote most of the third chapter a while ago, but I lost the document in the abyss of my computer. Hopefully I find it sooner rather than later. Sorry for the wait!

Angela lies on your royal blue comforter, pen tapping absently against a well-worn notebook.

“Wear that light blue tank top you have,” she says. “Girls love it.”

You snort. “And you know that how?”

“Word on the street.”

“Of course.” You take a moment to wade through your closet. “Black jeans?”

“Mhm. With the leather jacket.”

You change in a flurry of clothes. “Done and done.”

“Come here,” Angela says. “Let me see you.”

Angela gives you a quick once-over. She puts her pen down and stands up in front of you to straighten some hairs you assume were wayward. There’s something odd in her eyes when she steps back and squeezes your shoulders in reassurance. It’s gone as quickly as it comes, and the resulting smile is genuine. “Have a good time, _Spätzli._ ”  
  
  


* * *

 

“Sorry I’m late,” Renée says, settling into the booth.  She’s all smiles and auburn curls. A jean skirt and blouse replaces the cocktail dress she’d been wearing last week when you met her. “My dog rolled in a pile of muddy snow.” She shook her head. “I didn’t expect to be giving her a bath this evening.”

“I understand.” You smile a little. “My friend, Angela, and I—we have a dog.”

Renée’s brows raise in interest. “What’s their name?”

“Böhnli.”

“Böhnli? That’s sweet. Very unique.”

“Angela’s Swiss. She tells me it means ‘little bean.’”

Renée hums neutrally.

“They like size nicknames there. She calls me _Spätzli_.” You have the decency to shake your head a little, like you find the endearment silly but in a fond sort of way. “Little sparrow.”

You don’t miss the way Renée’s eyes narrow for a heartbeat before she smiles. “You must be nearly six feet.”

“And the dog is ninety pounds,” you say.

She laughs, but maintains a certain guardedness after that that perplexes you.

“So, you live around here?” she asks after your appetizers have come by.

You nod. “Angela and I live ten minutes away, up on 3rd Street, by the pharmacy there.”

“That’s a nice area.”

“Angela likes how close the beach is. They don’t have them in Switzerland—she…” you trail off, because Renée is frowning, visibly. You wrack your brain for what you’ve done wrong.

“So you and Angela—you’re close?” she finally asks.

You nod slowly. “Friends for ages.”

This doesn’t seem to alleviate her apparent qualms. “Can I ask you a serious question?”

“Sure.”

“Are you in love with Angela?”

You blank, totally and completely. In that moment, you can’t hear yourself think over the sirens in your head. Your hands start to sweat despite the chill in the restaurant, and panic settles sharply in your gut.

 “I…” you try. You take a deep breath, willing your tongue to cooperate.

Renée’s frown dissipates. “Are you alright?”

A long pause, and you let out a breath. “No. I can’t be in love with her.”

Renée studies you. “I didn’t ask you if _can_ be,” she says.

You eat the rest of your dinner in shameful silence. After that, you apologize, pay for her dinner for her trouble, and sit in your parked car with your head in your hands.

You can’t go home. Angela would ask why you were back so early, and you’ve never been able to lie to her. You can’t imagine what you’d even say.

_Hey, my date thinks I’m in love with you and we finished up pretty quickly after that._

And so you start driving. You have no destination in mind. The rhythm of your windshield wipers lulls you, and you’re so in your head you barely register time passing.

You text Angela from some motel a couple hours away: _Hey, I needed a night to think. I’m at a motel. Don’t worry about me. I’ll be back tomorrow morning._

Your phone vibrates within a minute. _A motel? Are you okay?_

You send her a goofy selfie of you propped up against the rickety bed frame. _I’m great. Will explain later, I promise._

_Please be safe._

_Always. Have a good sleep, Ange._

Angela sends you a _goodnight_ text. You click off your phone and fall onto your back, sighing deeply.

You don’t sleep well that night.


	15. To Think II

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> It's no masterpiece but I wanted to get it out before exams and grad suck up all my time. My last chapter's end was kind of evil, so here's a little conclusion:

It's just past four am when you pull into your and Angela's driveway. You'd decided halfway through the night to give up the tossing and turning, gulp down some coffee, and drive home. In the hotel room, you'd been filled with a restless combination of longing and anxiety. You wanted to see Angela, to go home—you can't remember when they became the same thing. But questions and worries gnawed at you—did she love you in the same way? What would happen if she didn't?

Did she ask herself the same questions at night?

You shut the car door, and the front door of the house opens before you can finish rummaging for your keys. In front of you is Angela in her well-worn yellow bathrobe.

"Angela, why are you—"

 _Awake_ dies in your throat when she envelopes you in a tight hug. You stiffen for a second, and then sigh gratefully, the plushness of her robe and her familiar hold comforting.

"I was worried about you," she says, chin moving against your shoulder.

"I didn't mean to keep you up."

"I know. Just... if it happens again, give me a little more warning."

Angela doesn't let go, and you accept everything in that moment—the risk, the anxiety, the change. You _could not_ go your whole life not telling this woman that you love her. It hits you with a punching clarity.

"It won't," you say firmly.

Angela steps back to give you a curious glance. You finally step inside and close the door.

"All these years, I was trying to ignore it," you continue.

Angela blinks tiredly. "Ignore what?"

"I don't know how it took a failed date to make me conscious of it."

Angela looks at you, a very Angela-like combination of patience and confusion clear in her expression. "I..."

"I couldn't stop talking about you. She noticed, of course, and I..." you swallow and pause. Angela continues to wait, beginning to comprehend. You know you're rambling, and so you take a breath and get to it. "I love you."

Angela's eyes start to water almost immediately, and you start to panic when a tear falls.

"I'm sorry, I—"

" _Don't_ ," she says, pulling you close. You slowly wrap your arms around her back, and she settles in just below your chin.

"I didn't know how to bring it up," Angela says. "I was terrified of the answer." 

Your sigh of relief is coupled with a pain in your chest—that she ever had to feel that way makes you wish you'd figured it out so much earlier.

"If you didn't feel the same way I... I didn't want to lose this," Angela says. "I didn't want this life we have together to end."

"Angela?"

She nods into your collarbone.

"We're only at the beginning."

Her laugh is watery. "I know."

You rub circles onto her back until she pulls away. The smile she gives you is overwhelmed, but more importantly it's happy—genuinely happy.

"I love you," you say again, because now you _can_ , and it's wonderful.

You can't tell who initiates it, but soon you're kissing her—soft, slow, deep—as the sun rises in pinks and oranges through the porch windows. You can barely bring yourself to pull away, and Angela's lips still brush against yours when she says,

"I love you, too. Always."


	16. Wanna Know Love

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks so much for the sweet comments on the last chapter. I teared up a little bit. Maybe a lot.
> 
> First non-AU in a while! This chapter is named after (and inspired by) the song [Wanna Know Love](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=3d1lyEsdIpI). I found Jasmine Thompson's new album yesterday and I'm thinking this will be the first chapter of three inspired by the album (they'll be a pretty continuous story). I'm excited for the ["Words"](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=je53CLL4sgc) chapter ;)
> 
> I love love how protective Mercy was of Tracer in the Uprising event and it kind of made me fall in love with their platonic relationship. (Sorry if Tracer doesn't sound aggressively British here; as a west coast Canadian I have the most "standard" North American way of speaking ever and writing her voice doesn't come naturally to me at all (whenever I try to insert British-isms it just sounds clunky and awkward), but I tried in some parts, lmao).

Angela had always felt a great measure of protectiveness towards Lena.

At present, those feelings were likely a by-product of Lena’s teenage years—when a younger Angela had instinctively taken the 19-year-old under her (quite literal) wing. A small, energetic young woman bursting with optimism, she’d easily inspired fondness in Angela.

Lena’s occasional joking utterances of “mum” had always had some validity—Angela had always been the one to tell her to rest, to get her accelerator checked, to come to the medbay regularly. And Angela was proud of the woman Lena had become—she was now nearly the same age Angela had been when they’d met.

That was why Angela had never imagined she’d be asking Lena, of all people, for relationship advice. Angela should have had more relationship experience—she was eleven years older, after all. But here she was.

“How do you balance things? With Emily…”

“Oh!” she says. “Well, Emily is very understanding. I’m lucky to have her… I know I’m not cut out for everybody.”

Angela nodded. She knew that feeling a bit too intimately.

“I don’t see her as often as I’d like to, but I try to let her know I’m thinking of her whenever I can. And,” she waggled her brows, “when we can see each other, we make the most of the time we have.”

Angela shook her head, but she couldn’t help the smile that escaped her. “Thank you, Lena.”

“Don’t mean to be nosy, but… are you telling me you’re thinking about relationships? The famously unpaired Doctor Ziegler?”

Angela sighed. “I didn’t mind it before. I was fine single. I made work my entire life, and living like that didn’t bother me. But…”

“But?”

“Now I know what love feels like. I’ve held it in my hands. I’ve… felt it. It’s tangible to me in a way it never was before.”

Comprehension dawned on Lena’s face.

“I’ve never had anyone in my life so caring, so loving, so invested in the wellbeing of others. Four years ago, when we reunited, I couldn’t believe she didn’t have someone already.”

Lena was grinning. “I _knew_ there was something there.”

Angela smiled. “Don’t make me regret telling you, häsli.”

Lena mock-saluted. “Lips are sealed.”

Angela could tell Lena was still buzzing a bit at the information—she wasn’t surprised when she asked, “Have you talked about it with her?”

“She tells me she’d die for me—and I know that she would—I feel the same way about her. It’s the only thing we’ve ever really argued about. She holds me when I break, and then stays with me the rest of the night. I didn’t sleep for 2 days during the time she…” Angela swallowed. “The time we were worried for her life. But never once have we talked about love.”

Lena nodded, uncharacteristically sage. “I told Emily how I felt about her partly because… you never know how long you’ll have. I want to spend the days I have happy.”

Angela wanted to reassure her that she wouldn’t let anything happen to her, but as much as it pained her to acknowledge, she couldn’t be everywhere at once. She was only mortal, after all.

“I’m happy you have Emily,” was all she said.

“I’m happy you have Fareeha.”

Angela raised her brows. “Don’t get ahead of yourself.”

“Aw, come on. She’s good for you.”

Angela sighed. “I think so, too.” (She knew so). “But even if Fareeha wants it, too… I just don’t know if a relationship would be realistic.”

“Oh please, Ange. Do something for your own happiness, just this bloody once.”

Angela just chuckled. “I’ll think about it.” The long day was starting to wear on her. “I should head to bed, häsli.”

“Of course. The lovebird needs her rest.”

Angela rolled her eyes fondly.

 

(She’d never tell Lena, but she fell asleep very much wishing Fareeha was beside her).

 

 

 

 


	17. Violets III

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I finally found the document for part 3 of Violets (pro-tip: do not name your fic literally "fic.doc" when you've written 496340 other little fics) so I'm in with the last chapter of this series. The former parts are chapters 12 and 13 if you've forgotten what happened (because ngl, I had to refresh my mind too). 
> 
> I hope the sickening sweetness makes up for the wait :)

Admittedly, it hadn’t been a great idea to _walk_ to Fareeha’s house in overcast weather.

Still, Angela huffed at the first fat raindrop. She hoped Fareeha wouldn’t mind wet violets—or a damp Angela. She smoothed down her now-speckled shirt, and any idealistic fantasies of sweeping Fareeha off her feet at the doorstep faded. (Well, figuratively. As a doctor, Angela was quite certain lifting Fareeha would cause significant strain to her untrained back. Muscle weighed more than fat, after all, and Fareeha had… excellent musculature.)

Maybe Fareeha would find the rain romantic. Was damp clothing romantic? Angela shivered, clutching the violets tightly.

Only five minutes to go now.

Angela tried her best not to think about worst-case scenarios. Fareeha was one of the kindest people Angela had met. She was sure Fareeha would let her down gently if she didn’t feel the same way, and their friendship was strong—it might be awkward for a while, but her feelings wouldn’t destroy what they already had.

And, as much as it pained her, Angela would understand completely if Fareeha didn’t want to go any further in their relationship. Angela was new to… just about everything. Her relationship inexperience could be a hurdle Fareeha wasn’t prepared for.

Angela could see Fareeha’s house, now—small and blue with bronze trimmings. Anxiety made Angela’s stomach feel electric, uncertainty jolting through her chest.

She crossed the small front yard, keeping her strides long. _She could do this._ She only let herself stand in front of the white door for a bated second before she rang the doorbell. She let out a breath as she waited, shaking the violets gently to expel the rain’s moisture. She stood up straight when she heard Fareeha’s footsteps.

Fareeha finally opened the door, and Angela was met with a bright “ _Hey_ ” that quickly morphed into a question—brows raised, her gaze danced between Angela and the flowers: _for me?_

Angela smiled, nodding sheepishly, and Fareeha smiled back—so fondly Angela could barely meet her eyes. The quiet moment that followed was a soft, light, intimate sort of silence, punctuated only by drips of rainwater leaking from one of Fareeha’s potted plants.

Fareeha’s voice was quiet when she spoke, eyes fixed on Angela. “They’re beautiful.”

Angela couldn’t help the relief that flooded through her body. She let herself close her eyes until she felt Fareeha gently tugging on her hand, voice still soft. “Come in. I’ll get you some dry clothes.”

Angela entered, suddenly grateful for the warmth. She’d always adored Fareeha’s house—cozy, comfortably decorated, just big enough for two. She didn’t want to get presumptuous, but she went a little warm at the thought. Maybe one day.

In the washroom, Angela changed quickly into the clothes Fareeha had given her—a soft t-shirt and a pair of sweatpants—a pleasant buzz warming her. Fareeha’s reaction to the flowers had calmed Angela, but some anxiety remained; she hadn’t yet made her intentions clear.

When Angela came back out to the front area, the violets were arranged in a vase on the centre of Fareeha’s wooden kitchen table. The room was filled with the aroma of darkly roasted coffee; Fareeha stood at the island, spooning grinds into a small press. Angela sank onto a kitchen chair and, head propped up on her hand, watched Fareeha close the lid of the coffee grinder and pour hot water into the press.

Sensing her, Fareeha looked up and smiled. Knowing Angela well enough to not bother asking, she plunged the press and poured Angela a large cup of coffee. Angela accepted it gratefully, tapping her fingers on the wood of the table.

Fareeha sat down beside her, expression soft and open.

Angela tried to think of the right words to address the pertinent topic; she truly did. “Is the French press new?” is what came out of her mouth.

Fareeha chuckled a bit, and then nodded. “I kind of bought it with you in mind, to use while you’re here.”

“You spoil me.”

Fareeha smiled, eyeing the bouquet. “Says the woman who brought me flowers.”

Here was Angela’s lead-in. Nerves started to creep up again. “About the flowers… when I came out to you last year, I left something out,” she said shakily.

Fareeha took Angela’s hand reassuringly and nodded, encouraging her to go on.

“Falling in love with you was how I realized everything.” Angela could barely look at Fareeha to gauge her reaction. All her words were coming out in a rush. “I never knew what I wanted until I realized it was you. I started to think about the future and I couldn’t see anyone else next to me. I didn’t _want_ anyone else next to me. In the evenings when I come home to an empty house I _wish_ I was coming home to you.” Angela knew she was rambling now. “I know I don’t have much relationship experience and I understand if—”

She stopped abruptly when Fareeha lifted Angela’s hand—still in her hold—and pressed her lips to its top. Angela felt dazed at Fareeha’s slow, deliberate movements, the softness of the kiss.

The charge between them was electric, now. Angela couldn’t look away.

“I’ve been in love with you for years,” Fareeha said, quiet, private, just for them. “I want everything, if you’re ready.”

Nodding fiercely, Angela grinned despite the tears falling. Fareeha stood up, opened her arms, and Angela practically knocked over her chair to get into her arms.

“You waited for me,” Angela murmured into Fareeha’s collarbone.

Fareeha kissed her forehead, and Angela melted further. “Everything was new to you. I wanted you to feel safe and happy and comfortable.”

Angela ran her hands along the secure arms holding her. “You’re doing an excellent job.”

Fareeha breathed out a laugh. “Good.”

Angela smiled up at her, and when Fareeha leaned down, Angela had no hesitations about kissing her, firm yet slow, unrushed.

 

They had the rest of their lives, after all.


	18. Violets IV

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Psych! Violets has a fourth part. Sort of an epilogue? It was originally going to have some angsty flashbacks of Angela's past at the beginning but I took them out because I didn't feel they really fit the mood, so the result is something that's fluffy even for me. Whoops.
> 
> Takes place a little more than two years after Violets III.

 

Angela always felt most content on summer evenings.

It was brought on by some combination of the pleasant, breezy warmth the heat of the day had by then cooled into, the easy smell of grass and wildflowers, the soothing blanket of rose-golden sun.

But the feeling still seemed to be more than the some of its parts.

Knowing Angela's love for warm evenings, Fareeha had bought a swinging bench for the backyard porch as a welcoming gift six months ago when Angela had moved in. It had been so thoughtful, so sweet, so _Fareeha_ , Angela had teared up when she saw it, moved by the implication: Fareeha, more than anything, wanted her to feel welcome, to feel at home.

She always felt that way with her.

More often than not Fareeha would join Angela on the bench, a blanket and a book of her own in tow. Sometimes Angela would put down her book and just watch Fareeha, fond of her reading glasses and that slight, automatic frown of concentration she often wore reading.

Today she leaned against Fareeha’s shoulder and daydreamed, thought about planting a garden in the corner of their yard. Sunset fast approaching, Fareeha eventually yawned and closed her book, laying an arm around Angela’s shoulders.

 Angela’s eyes drifted back to sun’s pink rays on the grass in front of them. “When I was a kid, I always wanted a treehouse,” she mused.

“Really?” Fareeha smiled. “I didn’t know that.”

“Before my parents passed away, my dad and I were going to build one. We’d finally moved into a house with a big enough yard,” Angela said, smiling sadly. The wound had long since healed to an occasional dull ache, but Fareeha held her a little tighter anyway.  “All the foster homes were too temporary for me to ask for one.

“As time went on, it became less about the treehouse itself, or even about my parents. I think it was how I conceptualized permanency as a kid,” Angela finished.

Fareeha was silent for a moment. “Do you want to build one here?”

Angela was touched. “You would honestly do that?”

“If it would make you happy, yeah. We’ve been together for two years, and this is your home as much as it is mine… I want you to feel like this is permanent.”

“I already do.” Angela kissed Fareeha’s shoulder. “But it might be fun to build one.”

Fareeha grinned. “Let’s do it.”

Angela laughed warmly. “Do you even know how to build a treehouse, my love?”

“ _Angela_ , you’re talking to a lesbian here.”

Angela shook her head fondly. “Gosh, really? I forgot.”

Fareeha turned and kissed Angela on the cheek, sloppy from the awkward angle. “Do you remember now?”

“Mm. Not quite.”

Fareeha shifted, kissing her soundly on the lips before pulling away. “Do you remem—”

Angela kissed the words off her lips. “Can’t say I do.”

Angela maneuvered her way onto Fareeha’s lap, sliding her shins in the gaps between the wooden frame of the bench.  Fareeha’s responding kiss was heated—she took Angela’s waist, pulled her impossibly close; Angela found Fareeha’s tongue, nibbled at her lower lip.

Fareeha pulled away, gasping in a bit of air. “Don’t think the hedges are high enough to do any further refreshing,” she breathed.

They were both silent for a second, and then Angela laughed and laughed until she felt moisture in her eyes. “I love you,” she said, feeling just as real and lovely as the first time.

Fareeha smiled, achingly fond—that specific smile reserved for when she made Angela happy. “I love you, too.”

Angela rested her chin on Fareeha’s shoulder, soaking in the quiet closeness of the moment, the intimacy of dusk’s lighting. After a moment, Fareeha asked, “How does this weekend sound?”  
  


* * *  
  


For the next three days, Angela watched Fareeha sketch various plans on graph paper, even make a model out of cardboard.

She never did anything halfway, Angela supposed.

They went out to the yard to make sure their oak tree had sturdy branches and well-established roots, and that the circumference was long enough for a standard-sized treehouse.

They’d even gotten the approval of their left-side neighbor, who would see the treehouse from above her fence. The younger woman had given them her thumbs up, and then had grinned cheekily. “Thinking about kids already?”

Angela had blushed, but Fareeha had just laughed. “Maybe one day. For now, it’s just for our fun.”

Then they’d purchased all the materials necessary, including an inordinate amount of 2x4s.

After much sweating, climbing, and nailing, they built a strong enough platform to stand on by Friday night. They finished the treehouse by Saturday afternoon, when the last boards of the roof were secured.

“Guess what,” Fareeha said, grinning underneath the wooden roof, and Angela took a step closer, playing along, mirroring her smile.

“What?”

“We just built a treehouse,” Fareeha said, embracing Angela with so much enthusiasm she lifted her off the ground. Angela laughed happily—forgetting how tired her body was, the stickiness of her t-shirt, anything but Fareeha, _Fareeha_ and the warmth in her chest.

Later that evening, they stuffed the treehouse with pillows and blankets and spent the night outside, acting like kids and unabashedly not caring.

Angela woke up even more tangled with Fareeha than she usually did. Sun from the window fell on Fareeha’s cheek, and Angela traced the spot until Fareeha’s eyes fluttered open.

“Good morning, sunshine,” Angela said.

Fareeha watched Angela silently. “Angela,” she finally said.

Angela blinked. “Yes?”

Fareeha's dark eyes never left her. “Marry me?”

It was said with such quiet sincerity and earnestness Angela covered her mouth as Fareeha rummaged for something under her blanket. She produced a small box, and Angela didn’t know she was crying until she felt tears on her palm.

Fareeha looked at her hopefully, and Angela nodded eagerly, laughing breathlessly between kisses.

 

She would never know how she got so lucky.


	19. Fix Me

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A little bit of... flangst? Practicing a bit with more dialogue-driven stories.
> 
> Based a bit on [this song.](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=og2-h5BUZVw)

_(10 years Pre-Recall)_

 

Fareeha dialed Angela's number, fueled by adrenaline and a hyper-aware sense of urgency.

"Hey," Angela picked up warmly, and Fareeha decided not to waste any time.

"I'm in love with you."

 _One second. Two seconds._ Fareeha could barely breathe with the sudden weight of the silence.

"Fareeha..." Angela said finally.

The hesitation in her voice hit Fareeha like a brick. Whatever rush she'd been on started to dissipate, a sense of vulnerability settling in. "I'm sorry, I... you don't have to say anything."

"Fareeha, wait,” Angela said. “You mean the world to me, and I love you dearly,” she paused, and Fareeha braced herself for what was coming, “but as a friend."

"I understand," Fareeha said, trying to mask the pain in her voice. "I don't know what I was thinking, catching you off guard. I’m sorry."

"It's.... alright." Angela hesitated for a minute, and then asked, "Is everything okay?"

Of course Angela would have guessed something was off. Fareeha wouldn’t lie to her. "There was a close call at Helix."

Fareeha could envision her going into Panicked Doctor Mode. "Are you hurt?"

"No, no. I'm fine.”

Angela sighed on the other end of the line, clearly relieved.

“But there’s nothing like near-death to remind you that your time is limited.”

"Oh," Angela said quietly. "I understand."

"At least it’s off my chest."

_It’d been there too long, anyway._

“I’m sorry,” Angela said. The sadness in her voice caught Fareeha off guard.

"I-It's okay,” Fareeha said. “I should go."

"I'll talk to you soon, Fareeha. Be careful."

Fareeha said her goodbyes and rubbed at her temples.  

Even if Angela did feel the same way, Fareeha didn't know what she had been expecting. A relationship? She was stationed halfway across the world.

She was hardly prepared to make that work.

 

 

Angela sighed softly and slipped her phone back into her pocket.

An _I love you_  would be a promise too big to keep.

 

* * *

 

 

_(1 Year Post-Recall)_

 

A blinding pain, and Angela felt herself falling. She cried out, bracing herself for an impact that didn’t come. She looked up in confusion, finding a helmeted head above her, and realized she was being held. Blood gushed from her leg, and Angela felt weak.

Fareeha’s voice cursed above her. “We have the payload. We’re going back.”

The world went dark.

 

Angela awakened in her own medical bay.

“How did I…”

“Oh, Angela,” Fareeha breathed, relief in her voice so acute it began to clear Angela’s haze.

“W-Who healed me?”

“Zenyatta,” Fareeha answered. Angela blinked Fareeha into focus. She sat on a chair beside the bed; her hair was mussed, and Angela had never seen such deep bags under her eyes. Fareeha gestured to a glass of water on the bedside table. “Drink. You’re probably dehydrated.”

“This is a role reversal,” Angela remarked weakly, propping herself up against the bedframe.

Fareeha smiled fondly. “Just call me doctor.”

Angela chuckled, sipping at her water.

“Can I get you anything? Food?” Fareeha asked.

Angela eyed the clock at the front of the med bay. Half past two, and the single dark window told Angela it was early morning.

 “Oh, Fareeha. Please go to sleep. I’ll be fine until later in the morning.”

“Are you sure?”

“Absolutely. Go get some rest.”

Fareeha said goodnight, and Angela watched her go.

She had a feeling she’d only be alone for a couple of hours.

 

* * *

 

Angela warmed at the sight of Fareeha at the door.

She handed one of her breakfast plates to Angela, setting the other on her lap as she lowered herself onto the fold-up chair.

“Good morning,” Fareeha said. “How are you feeling?”

“Better,” Angela said. She picked up a piece of pita, tried to discretely push some papers under her blanket.

Fareeha noticed the crinkling and furrowed her brows. “Were you working?”

“A little. I’m fine, real—”

“You almost—” Fareeha started, voice raised a decibel. She looked as if to say more, and then swallowed her words in a sigh.

“I’m sorry,” Angela said genuinely, taking her hand. She could only imagine the helplessness Fareeha must have felt, watching Angela bleed out, unable to do anything. Angela knew the care was just as much for Fareeha as it was for her—at least Fareeha had some control over this. “I’m being selfish. I’ll rest, I promise.”

Fareeha’s skepticism faded. “I don’t mean to be overbearing…”

“Fareeha… protecting me on the battlefield is expected of you, now, and that _and_ fighting simultaneously is a lot to ask. I know you feel like you’re responsible for this, but you’re not.”

“It’s not just that. I failed _you_.”

“You saved my life.”

“I shouldn’t have let you fall in the first place.”

“You did what you could.”

“I could have done better.”

“Mistakes happen.”

“When it comes to life and death? I can’t let them happen.”

“ _Fareeha_.”

“ _Angela_.”

Angela huffed. “I don’t understand why this bothers you so much.”

Something cracked in Fareeha’s cool exterior. “I love you,” she said, voice desperate and broken, much too small. “I still love you. That’s why it _bothers_ me. That’s why I break when I think of something happening to you. Especially… especially something I could have prevented. I couldn’t put you through that. I couldn’t live with myself.” She took a breath. “Do you understand now?”

 _Oh_.

Fareeha exhaled. “I’m sorry. I should leave you be for a while.”

And for the second time, Angela let her go.

 

* * *

 

They didn't speak of Fareeha's words.

 

* * *

 

“Do you need anything?” Fareeha asked, for the four-dozenth time in three days.

“I think I’m very well cared for,” Angela said. “But there is one thing.”

“Yes?”

“Read to me.”

“Oh,” Fareeha said. “Okay.”

Angela smiled. “Come up here,” she said, patting the space on the bed next to her. “Your legs must be stiff, sitting on that plastic chair all day.”

Fareeha hesitated only for a moment before obliging, lowering herself on the bed and opening the book on her lap. The bed was small enough that Fareeha’s leg pressed against Angela’s own.

Fareeha began to read, and Angela gingerly shifted to her side so she could face her. She let Fareeha’s voice, low and soothing, wash over her, admiring the hard lines of her profile and the way her lips curved softly around words. An hour went by, and then another, and Angela found herself paying little attention to the book’s content. It was less important than Fareeha’s touch, Fareeha’s voice, Fareeha’s care.

It hit her in that moment, and the impact held her like a blanket, soft and yet all-encompassing. She felt no dread, no anxiety at the realization, just Fareeha’s arm brushing against her shoulder, shifting ever so slightly with each turn of a page.

This was what Angela had been looking for.

Angela touched Fareeha’s arm, and Fareeha looked up from the book.

“Thank you,” Angela said. For what, she didn’t attempt to pinpoint. For reading to her? For carrying her back to base that night, bleeding and conscious? For barely leaving her side?

Fareeha smiled, squeezed her hand in response. “Should we call it a night?”

“If it isn’t too much trouble, I’d like to finish the chapter,” Angela said. _I’d like to fall asleep to the sound of your voice_ , Angela thought.

She rested her head on Fareeha’s shoulder, Fareeha read, and Angela felt at peace for the first time in years.

She felt herself drifting off into the soft safety of sleep. She was only awakened when Fareeha gently extricated herself from the bed. Drowsily, she watched Fareeha above her—watched as Fareeha picked her up and lowered her into a lying position.

Angela felt it slip out of her tired lips:

“I love you.”

Tenderly, Fareeha brushed some flyaways from Angela’s face, and for that precious second, Angela pretended they were different people, from a different time—people who had nothing more important to do than fall in love.

 


	20. Lena

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Part I of a 2-parter—my first real attempt at Lena/Emily and Lena's POV. The second part will focus on Angela.
> 
> Special thanks to ace-athena on tumblr who suggested Fareeha's pun near the end. It was... punbeatable.
> 
> With that said... remember kids, everything will work out in the end. *finger guns*

_(Uprising era)_

 

Lena didn't know what she'd been thinking.

It'd been in the heat of the moment. After a successful mission, Dr. Ziegler had smiled at her, and she'd looked so beautiful—so fond, so relieved, breeze picking up her hair.

Lena had kissed her.

It was less than a second later that she pulled away, met with Dr. Ziegler's startled face. Instantly filled with regret, Lena rung her hands together. "Sorry! I'm so sorry."

She left before Dr. Ziegler could even respond.

 

 

* * *

 

 

Lena had always known her feelings were far from reciprocated. She'd confronted that inevitable reality months ago. It wasn't dealing with that that was difficult.

It was the shame that was worse—she'd overstepped her boundaries and she'd put Dr. Ziegler in an uncomfortable position. And then there was the fact that she was still a new recruit. What if she'd put her career in jeopardy?

Lena pulled her blanket farther over her, attempting to delay her fate. Maybe they wouldn’t find her here.

A knock on her door.

Lena sighed. Dr. Ziegler liked to resolve things.

A muffled voice from behind the door. "Lena, can we talk?"

She didn't sound angry, at least.

"Yeah," Lena said, sitting up on the bed. "Come in."

Dr. Ziegler sat down beside her. She was silent for a moment, and nervous energy made Lena ramble. "I don't know why I did it. I'm sorry, again. I—"

Dr. Ziegler put a hand on her knee, stilling her fidgeting. "I was nineteen once, too, Lena. God knows how many stupid things I thought and did."

Lena's rapid heartbeat slowed a bit.

"And I'm not going to tell Morrison, if you're worried about that."

Lena finally exhaled. "Thanks."

Dr. Ziegler squeezed her hand. "I care so much for you. You're kind, thoughtful, endlessly optimistic. You're going to make the right girl—a girl who's at the same stage in life as you—very happy. And I can't wait to meet her when that happens."

Lena grinned, partly out of pure relief. "I've never gotten that many compliments in a rejection before."

Dr. Ziegler nudged her shoulder. "I mean that. I want to meet her."

Lena saluted with two fingers. "Yes, doctor."

She smiled at her antics, eyes straying to the clock on the wall. "I should let you sleep," she said, standing up. "It's getting late."

"Wait," Lena said, and Dr. Ziegler paused. "When you find the one, I'd like to meet them, too."

"Oh, Lena," she said, almost a sigh. "I'll let you know if that ever happens."

Lena didn't like her dismissal. "Have a little hope."

"No promises," Dr. Ziegler said, smiling, before Lena heard the clasp of her door shutting.

Lena would have to hope _for_ her, then.

 

 

* * *

 

 

 

 

_(5 years later/2 years pre-Recall)_

 

 

It was a rare, quiet Sunday.

Lena lay on the sofa with her legs hanging over its arm, and Emily sat cross-legged beside her, one hand holding her tablet and another playing absently with Lena’s hair.

"There’s someone I want you to meet," Lena said. “Officially.”

Emily looked down at Lena. "Oh?"

"An old friend."

"Are they another monkey?"

"Emily!"

"It's a fair question." Emily laughed, bending down and kissing her on the cheek. "You know I love Winston."

" _Actually_ , she’s a human woman. You would know her."

“Mercy?”

Lena nodded. “She’s going to be in London next week. She’s wanted to meet you in person for months.”

“Oh,” Emily said. “I’m a bit nervous. She’s like your second mum.”

Lena groaned. “Don’t say that, Em. I used to fancy her.”

Emily burst out laughing. “Really?”

“I was nineteen, alright?”

Emily raised her palms in surrender, grinning. “I didn’t say I blamed you.”

Lena buried her head in the sofa and groaned again.

“So you like us older women,” Emily continued. “I didn’t know that about you.”

“Emily, p _lease_ ,” Lena said, voice muffled in the cushions. “You’re hardly a year older than me.”

“It’s fifteen whole months,” Emily said. “And did she find out you fancied her?”

“Well… she probably did when I kissed her.”

“You kissed her?” Emily asked, only sounding amused.

“You know, most girlfriends would be at least a little jealous about this sort of thing.”

“Oh, I am jealous. I mean, you got to kiss her. I’d like to kiss Mercy.”

Lena looked up at her with an exaggerated pout. Emily smiled, patted her lap. “Come here, love.”

Lena obliged, and Emily pecked her cheeks, forehead, lips—until Lena couldn’t pretend to frown any longer. “I won’t tease if it bothers you,” Emily said, forehead against Lena’s. “I don’t want anyone in the world but you.”

Lena kissed her proper. “I know.”

 

 

* * *

 

 

 

The café was relatively quiet—filled only with the murmurs of patrons and the occasional grinding of beans. Emily fiddled with the ends of her long red hair, a nervous habit Lena had first noticed in the early days of their dating.

“Don’t worry, love,” Lena reassured. “She already likes you.”

Emily folded her hands in her lap. “Okay,” she exhaled.

“She should be here in— _oh_ , she’s early,” Lena finished, already taking Emily’s hand and running up to the front of the café. Lena practically threw herself at Angela, who laughed and squeezed her tightly. Emily came next, hug equally tight.

“It’s so nice to finally meet you,” Angela said, still holding Emily at arms length. “I’ve heard so much about you.”

Emily’s shoulders relaxed at the kind approval in Angela’s eyes, and she finally smiled fully. “I feel the same way.”

They sat down when they’d realized they’d caused a bit of a scene.

They talked about nothing—laughed about nothing; it was a respite from what was lingering on Lena’s chest—the knowledge of rising world conflict, inevitable fighting, lives unnecessarily lost.

When Emily went back to the register to buy a coffee, Angela looked at Lena meaningfully. “Make sure you hold onto her.”

Lena nodded. “That’s the plan.”

“Good.”

“I’m still waiting for _you_ to find someone, though.”

Lena expected Angela to brush off the suggestion as she usually would, but instead there was a tinge of sadness to Angela’s smile, as if years of loneliness were finally catching up to her.

“Me too.”

 

 

* * *

 

 

 

_(2 years later, Recall)_

 

The woman had a strong grip and a familiar tattoo that curled under a brown eye.

“Fareeha Amari,” she said. “Call sign Pharah. Nice to meet you.”

Her voice was measured and professional, but her smile was soft, genuine, hinted at something playful to be uncovered.

Lena decided quite quickly that she liked her.

After a few minutes of conversation, Angela made her way over to them from the other side of the room. Lena grinned at her, gesturing to the woman beside her. “Have you met Fareeha, Angela?”

Angela smiled at Fareeha like they were sharing a joke. Without answering, she pulled her into a hug. “It’s been too long.”

Lena had definitely missed something.

“It has,” Fareeha echoed, so fondly Lena felt like she was intruding on something.

“Was the trip alright?” Angela asked when they pulled away from each other. “How did the Raptora hold up?”

“It’s held up by rocket engines.” Fareeha grinned. “You know that.”

Angela laughed into her hand, and neither of them noticed when Lena slipped away.

 

She could hardly be bothered to mind, though, when Angela looked so happy.


	21. The Voice in the Night

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Inspired by [this post about somebody's sleep-talking Swiss German boyfriend](http://spudsexuall.tumblr.com/post/156793626498/my-boyfriend-talks-in-his-sleep-and-because-hes). You can probably guess how this is going to go now.
> 
> Thanks to metalwarrior22 for the title and an anon for their encouragement in this endeavour.

Fareeha cracked an eye open in the darkness, unsure of what had woken her up.

She felt a pressure on her back, and quickly realized Angela had curled up around her from the side. This new arrangement toed the line between comfortable spooning and sardine impersonation.

“Mmm,” Angela mumbled. “You have a sexy butt.”

 _She was awake?_   “There are probably better times to tell me that, but I’m glad you like it,” Fareeha said.

No response.

Fareeha stifled a laugh. Angela must have fallen asleep again.

Fareeha shuffled a bit and got comfortable—she was nearly asleep again when Angela muttered, “I’ll give you healing if you give me better chocolate.”

Was she…? “You’re awake?” Fareeha asked.

No response.

Angela clutched Fareeha tighter. “My pants are telling me lies,” she said urgently.

Fareeha blinked, mildly concerned, but mostly confused. Angela had never talked in her sleep before. “You’re not wearing pants, honey,” Fareeha said.

Seemingly mollified, Angela loosened her grip on Fareeha, mumbling softly in what sounded vaguely German. Her concluding sentence was the sole one in English: “Pants are an illusion, and so is death.”

That was when Fareeha started to find this all very amusing. She managed to contain her laughter in her pillow.

Angela was quiet for a moment, and then stated, suddenly, “That’s _my_ yogurt, Satan.”

Fareeha laughed, now unable to contain her amusement if she tried. “You tell him, babe,” she said. After hearing rustling from Angela’s side, Fareeha tried to quiet down.

“What’s going on?” Angela asked, sounding much more like her usual conscious self, and Fareeha winced. Angela had always been a light sleeper.

“Sorry, I didn’t mean to wake you,” Fareeha said, turning to face Angela. “You… do you know you were talking in your sleep?”

“What?” Angela looked bewildered. “I had no idea.”

“It was pretty funny, actually.”

“Oh, god. What did I say?”

Grinning, Fareeha pulled Angela close, and then, in a decent impersonation of her accent, said, “ _You have a sexy butt._ ”

“Noo,” Angela groaned. “I didn’t say that.”

“You did,” Fareeha said, laughing, and Angela hid her face in the pillow. “No need to be so embarrassed. I mean, you’ve said dirtier things to me while awake—“

“ _Fareeha._ ”

“It also looks like Satan tried to steal your yogurt.”

“That bitch,” Angela said incredulously, smiling at her girlfriend who had already dissolved into laughter.

“I’ll fight him for you,” Fareeha said.

“Oh, lord. Please don’t. I can only imagine the injuries you’d get from that.”

“The yogurt thief must be brought to justice.”

Angela just laughed, tucking her head under Fareeha’s arm. “I admire your dedication.”

“Justice never sleeps,” Fareeha said.

“Yeah, well,” Angela hummed, yawning, “Mercy does.”

Fareeha breathed out a laugh. “Good night.”

“Love you,” Angela murmured before she fell asleep.

 

Not ten minutes later, Angela stated clearly:

“Hot ham water.”

 

It was going to be a long night.


	22. In Any Language

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I started writing this about a year ago and so I decided to finally finish it, woo. A present day AU, and a longer one, compared to other chapters in here.
> 
>    
> Just in case:  
> Non-italics & present tense=present  
> Italics & past tense=past

Fareeha’s plane will arrive at Zürich–Kloten Airport in approximately 28 minutes.

 

Her hands are clammy against the knees of her jeans. She takes a few deep breaths, tries to calm her nerves.

 

_Angela. She is going to see Angela again._

 

A grin pulls at her lips.

 

[26 minutes]

 

It’s been over two years since she’s seen Angela in the flesh. They have found ways to communicate, but the absence of Angela’s casual affection Fareeha has felt strongly. Angela is naturally inclined to touch, and having lived with her, Fareeha has grown to savour it. She will be staying in Angela’s guest bedroom over the next few months, and if the past is anything to go by, she guesses Angela will insist she stay longer. She won’t object, if asked.

  
(She wonders if Angela has finally put away the framed photograph of the two of them at Fareeha’s college graduation, if her apartment still smells of coffee and lilies).

 

  
[23 minutes]

 

_The café was abuzz with laughter, the clacking of typing, and snippets of foreign tongues. At a school known to attract international students, and in Switzerland of all places, Fareeha couldn’t go a day without hearing at least four different languages._

 

_In Egypt, she had learned some English in school, and knowing it was a useful language for travellers, she’d spent many evenings in high school watching North American television with a sort of rapt attention she found amusing in hindsight. She had always hoped to travel, to study abroad._

 

 _Fareeha_ _slipped a sleeve through her cup of coffee and winced at the_ _soft crash behind her. She whipped around to find that she had elbowed over a stack of paper cups and napkins. Kneeling down, she began stacking the cups back together, but soon she sensed a nearby presence. A young woman was crouched beside her, sweeping blonde flyaways from her face as she set to work on the fallen napkins._

 

_“Merci vilmal,” Fareeha remembered._

 

_Without missing a beat, the woman smiled. “It’s no problem.”_

 

_Fareeha laughed despite herself. “Am I that bad?”_

 

 _“You say_ merci _more French than Swiss.”_

 

_Not without some wounded pride, Fareeha scratched the back of her neck. “I’m new to this language.”_

 

_The woman stood up and set the napkins back on the counter. “I understand. It’s difficult to find resources to learn Swiss German. It’s a strange dialect.”_

 

_Fareeha nodded, placing the cups beside the napkins. “My classes here are in English, thankfully. Not my first language, but I am comfortable with it.”_

 

 _“Many people feel the same way, here,” the woman said, extending her hand. “I am Angela, by the way._ Grüezi _.”_

 

_She shook Angela’s hand and repeated the greeting. “Fareeha.”_

 

_“What’s your first language, if I may ask?”_

 

_“Arabic. My home is in Egypt.”_

 

_Angela’s eyes softened. “You’re far from your family,” she said. “You can’t be older than…”_

 

_“Nineteen.”_

 

_Angela considered her for a moment. “If you’d like, I could teach you the basics of Swiss German. It may make you feel more comfortable here. For free, of course.”_

 

_Fareeha blinked. “Are you sure?”_

 

_Angela was scribbling numbers down on a piece of paper she had produced from her bag. “Of course.”_

 

_“That would be... great. Thank you.”_

 

_Angela handed her the note. “How about here, sometime next week?”_

 

_Fareeha nodded, a little blindsided by her kindness, and Angela waved as she left. “Nice meeting you, Fareeha!”_

 

[17 minutes]

 

 _“_ En guete _,” Fareeha said._

 

 _“_ Have a nice meal _,” Angela translated, pleased._

 

_They had developed a game of sorts in which Fareeha would say something to Angela in Swiss German in hopes of her understanding, to which she would repeat in English. It had been a year, now, and Fareeha could now hold basic conversations, to Angela’s great pride._

 

 _Fareeha thought for a moment. “_ Merci vilmal _,” she said, a grin tugging at her lips._

 

 _“_ Thanks a lot _,” Angela repeated. “You’re pronouncing it better.”_

 

 _“Thank you,” Fareeha said. “Or should I say…_ merci vilmal _.”_

 

 _Angela laughed and shook her head. “_ Bitte _._ You’re welcome. _”_

 

_In a year, Fareeha had learned that Angela was a medical student, five years her senior. She was kind, and stunningly beautiful, and Fareeha was certain she would never tire of hearing her voice—soft and pleasing and lilted no matter the language._

 

[14 minutes]

 

_Just as the sun was setting, Angela placed the last box on the stack by the door._

 

_“Well,” she said, dusting her hands off. “Onto the next stage of your life.”_

 

_Fareeha gave her a rueful smile. Graduating the week prior had been more bitter and less sweet than she had anticipated._

 

_Angela pulled her into a hug. “Come back someday. You’re always welcome to stay with me.”_

 

_Because it felt like a last chance, Fareeha kissed her._

 

_Later, Fareeha stared at frothy clouds through the plane window, thinking of a woman’s pained, hesitating lips against her own._

 

[11 minutes]

 

_Back home, Fareeha had never felt more welcome._

 

_Familiar sounds, scents, tastes, wrapped her in their warm embrace. Her mother’s hair had gotten whiter, her small cousins had grown._

 

_She was content, grateful—but something had shifted. Something small but ever-present nagged at her._

 

_She did not feel completely full._

 

_Someone was missing._

 

[9 minutes]

 

_“I keep thinking of our game,” Angela’s voice, somewhat muffled, found its way into Fareeha’s ear. She readjusted the phone on her shoulder, hoping to find some position that made Angela’s voice clearer, less distant. “I miss it.”_

 

_Fareeha exhale was somewhere between a laugh and a sigh. “I would say we should continue it, but I don’t know how much more Swiss German there is for you to teach me, after all these years.”_

 

_Angela laughed lightly. “I think you're right.”_

 

_“Unless...” Fareeha started, paused, “you want to learn Arabic. I could teach you some of the Egyptian dialect.”_

 

_Fareeha could hear the excitement in Angela’s voice. “You would?”_

 

_Knowing the language would make things easier, if Angela were to ever..._

 

 _“_ _Taba'n,” Fareeha said, feeling herself smile. “Of course.”_

 

[6 minutes]

 

_For the first few months, the way Fareeha missed Angela was dull, all-encompassing._

 

_It shifted during one video call, about a year after she left Switzerland. Angela reached out as if to touch Fareeha through cyberspace, and then dropped her hand into her lap, embarrassed._

 

_After that, it became a sharp, pointed pang in Fareeha’s chest._

 

  
[3 minutes]

 

_Fareeha tapped to answer the call. It was late—much later than Angela’s usual calls. “Is everything okay?” she whispered._

 

_“Do you think we could make this work?” Angela asked, out of the blue, softer and more vulnerable than Fareeha had heard her in months. “God, I miss you.”_

 

_Taken aback, Fareeha paused. “I…”_

 

_“I just want to know if there’s a chance.”_

 

_“Do you mean now? While we’re apart?”_

 

_“I don’t know,” Angela said, sighing. “I just want you to know I want to be with you.”_

 

_"I want that, too.”_

 

_“Okay,” Angela breathed. “That’s all I’d hoped for.”_

 

Comfortable silence for a few moments. Fareeha listened to the clock tick on her wall.

 

_“Guet Nacht, Angela,” she said finally._

 

_“Oh, Fareeha,” she could hear the small smile in Angela’s voice. “Tiṣbaḥ 'ala khayr.”_

 

[1 minute]

 

_Fareeha didn’t know why she’d walked into a jewelry store on her way back from work. Maybe the outside display had been nice. Maybe she gravitated towards anything that made her think of Angela._

 

_“Are you wanting to purchase a ring?” the woman at the counter asked her._

 

_“No, I...” Fareeha said, “I’m just looking.”_

 

I’m just looking _echoed loudly in her ears. Isn’t that what she’d been doing the past two years?_

 

_Looking at Angela through pixelated screens; hearing her tinny voice 3000 kilometers away. Clutching onto any fragments of Angela she could find. Just waiting. Stagnant. Static._

 

_That wasn’t her._

 

_God, Angela wanted to be with her. And Fareeha was in a jewelry store an ocean away, buying nothing._

 

_She didn’t need a ring. Fuck. She needed a plane ticket._

 

_She left the store without another word._

 

* * *

  


Fareeha thinks she hears a recorded message about landing procedures, but she can’t focus on anything but Angela. Her heartbeat speeds up again.

 

So close.

 

When the plane finally lands, Fareeha stands up shakily and nearly stumbles on the exit stairs. She follows the crowd down a hallway, and when she makes it to the waiting area her eyes land on Angela easily. Angela has not noticed her yet, and Fareeha takes advantage of the moment to really look at her.

 

Fareeha will never forget the sight of Angela standing there at the airport, eyes searching, wide with anticipation. They soften when they focus on Fareeha, and as soon as she has passed the gate, Angela runs into her arms. She lifts Angela off her feet a little, feeling wetness gathering in her eyes.

 

Angela clutches her tightly, and when she finally pulls away Fareeha wipes away the tears on Angela’s cheeks with a soft thumb.

 

“I missed you,” Angela says, open and earnest.

 

Fareeha nearly kisses her in the crowded airport. She settles for her forehead, instead. _I missed you too_ does not seem to be enough. “I thought about you every day,” she murmurs.

 

That night, Angela reads a book as she waits for Fareeha to finish dinner. She is already in a pajama shirt, hair loose around her shoulders.

 

Fareeha places Angela’s plate in front of her. “En guete,” she says with a wink.

 

“Merci vilmal,” Angela replies, and Fareeha smiles fondly.

 

They eat side by side in contented silence, and Fareeha has longed for this, a persistent and familiar ache. She watches Angela, and an idea comes to her.

 

“Ich bi verliebt,” Fareeha says, before she can change her mind.

 

“I’m in love,” Angela translates automatically, that game from years ago still ingrained somewhere deep, and her fork clinks as it lands on the table. Fareeha watches her nervously—eyes wide, Angela stares back. “With me?” she asks quietly, gesturing to herself, and Fareeha barely contains soft laughter, because _yes, of course_ , and nods.

 

Wordlessly, Angela finds her way onto Fareeha’s lap. She kisses her with an intensity that makes Fareeha wonder just how long she has been waiting. Fareeha holds her tightly and delights in the taste of her lips. Angela leans back, whispers _I love you_ against Fareeha’s skin, and she has never heard a more beautiful sound in any language.

  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  



End file.
